


Blood Connections Interlude 1

by Luthorchickv2



Series: Blood Connections [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-05-01
Updated: 2011-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-18 20:35:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthorchickv2/pseuds/Luthorchickv2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven year old Sherlock asks his mother a question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Question

**Author's Note:**

> Note 1: This is part of my Blood Connections series and while this section is gen, the series will eventually be slash.
> 
> Note 2: Sherlock intimidates me, even at seven, so my apologies if he is a little out of character.
> 
> Note 3: It is rare that I am updating this so soon after part 1. If you are following this expect a little longer between chapter.
> 
> Note 4: Please feel free to comment. Anything is helpful.

1987

Sherlock Holmes was seven years old when he approached his mother with a question that had been bothering him for a while.

She was sitting in the upstairs study that had been set aside for her personal use. During the day she could often be found sitting at her hardwood desk that faced a window that overlooked the formal gardens. Every so often, if she thought she was alone she would pause whatever she happened to be doing at the moment and stare out the window at the garden. She would stare for a long time looking terribly sad, before shaking herself and turning back her work.

Sherlock knew this because he was very good at sneaking and hiding. He could startle the cook every time, showing up places where he wasn’t supposed to be and his nanny, when he was younger, could never find him. The only people who he could never scare or hide from were Mummy and Mycroft. By age five he had explored most of the Hall and by six he knew all the best places to hide and read in. The nook formed by the edge of the bookcase and sofa in Mummy’s study was a perfect place to read. He could be alone but also be with his mother at the same. It had a good view of her but because of the angle of the bookcase she could not see him. It let him be close to her without wanting to seem like a baby. He would spend many afternoons curled in the nook with a book, reading as he listened to her write letters and whatever else she did at the desk. He wasn’t trying to hide now. He wasn’t trying to sneak in. He wanted an answer to his question and with his father visiting Mycroft at University, now seemed like the perfect time.

He knocked “Mummy?” He called and sidled into the room.

She twisted around in her chair to face him. “Sherlock sweetie, come in.”

The chair squeaked as she spun in it to fully face him.

“Duckie? What’s wrong?” Her voice was concerned as she reached out to rest a hand on his forehead.

He shook off her hand and stared at her face, at her eyes that were the same blue-grey as his own, and blurted out his question.

“Mummy? Who is my father?”

For a second her eyes widened but she pulled herself together almost instantly.

“What makes you think that your father isn’t your father?” Which wasn’t a denial, he noted.

He heaved a sigh, the kind that that his teachers did whenever they were explaining to him why what he was doing was wrong.

“It’s obvious isn’t it? He doesn’t love me the way he loves Mycroft.” Sherlock shoved his hands in his pockets and forced himself to look at her.

“Of course he…” His mother tried to interrupt.

“He doesn’t spend time with me as much as he does with Mycroft when he’s home and when he does, he is never really paying attention. He never ruffles my hair or pats me on the back like he does with Mycroft. When Mycroft came home last he got three hugs from Father. In that same time, and since I have only been hugged once, and that was when I hugged him first. He…” His mother raised her hand to stop him.

“Did you think that maybe he just has more in common with Mycroft because he is an adult? No, of course you did. You are so very smart Sherlock, so curious..” She turned her head to stare out the windows at the garden. The sun streamed in though the window, lighting her long blond hair.

The ticking clock was the only sound in the room for a minute before she turned back to him.

“At times it’s hard to remember that you are seven, you act so much older. I am going to speak you as an adult Sherlock for all that you are seven. I should ask you to leave it alone but I know you won’t so I won’t bother.” She lifted a soft, pale hand and grasped his left, thumb rubbing circles on his knuckles, while keeping eye contact with him.

“No, Marcus Holmes is not your biological father but that doesn’t make him any less your father. He is the one who is helping me raise you. He is my husband and has been for over twenty years.” Her eyes left his and darted back to the window before she made a visible effort to look him the eye again.

“This isn’t easy for me to say.” She took a deep breath and exhaled. “A little over seven years ago I got really upset at Marcus and did something that hurt people. I was very unhappy and wanted to make other people, including Marcus unhappy. No, don’t ask me, Sherlock.” She squeezed tighter as he opened his mouth to ask what she had done. “I won’t tell you all of it. But the result was you. You are the only good thing to come out of that time in my life. What I did was awful but I can’t fully bring myself to regret it completely because I got you.” She cradled his face between her hands.

“I love you Sherlock, and I know Marcus does too, even if he doesn’t always act like it.” She brought his face close to hers and leaned her forehead on his.

“What you did? Does it have anything to do with the locked metal box you keep in this drawer?” He tapped the handle of a desk drawer on the lower left corner of the desk.

She jerked away from him, and butterflies exploded in his stomach, afraid that he had somehow hurt her. “Sherlock, I know you are curious and want to know everything you can but I have to ask you to trust me. Please don’t go poking around in that drawer, take apart the whole rest of the house if you want to but not that.” She went back to gripping his hand.

“I need you to promise me that you will leave it alone Sherlock and to keep that promise. In exchange I will promise you that when the time is right I will share the contents of that box with you. I swear it. Can you promise me that Sherlock?” He nodded, shaking at the emotion in her voice.

“Say it please.” She pushed.

“I promise to leave it alone Mummy.” He pulled his hands away form hers. He had gotten an answer but he didn’t like it.

“Can I know his name?” He wanted to know. He wanted something concrete.

She smiled sadly. “In time Sherlock, now shoo Mummy’s got work to do.” She pulled him into a tight hug and kissed the top of his hair. The hug was almost too tight but Sherlock found that he didn’t mind. He wanted to be close to her. When she finally released him, he could see tears in her eyes.

“I love you Sherlock, so very much.”

He leaned forward to kiss her cheek before slipping back to the door. He turned before pushing it open and saw her staring out at the garden, the forbidden drawer open and the locked box sitting under her hand on the desk.

He would erase this information, he decided. It wasn’t useful at the moment and she promised she would tell him someday. With that thought he ran down the hallway to the stairs all the way planning on the best way to make the cook scream.


	2. The Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus Holmes comes home and has a talk with Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note 1: Seven-year-old Sherlock still intimates me. Though it is easier when he’s quieter.
> 
> Note 2: Marcus ended up wanting to explain more and more and I just let him.

A couple of days later, Sherlock was kneeling in the garden, observing an ant colony, when his father approached him. Marcus Holmes had arrived home the night before and, unlike every other time his father had gone away and come back, Sherlock had not met him at the door. He had not run down the stairs or even had poked his head out of his room when he heard the front door open. There was no reason to, not really. He watched as the tall man walked towards and disregarded it.

He was, possibly only out for a walk, Sherlock thought and returned to watching six ants attempt to get the body of a dead beetle back into the colony.

“Sherlock?” A shadow fell over him and he looked up to the man standing in front of him.

“Can I talk to you for a tic?” Sherlock titled his head before nodding, standing and following him to a bench on the other side of the lawn.

He was careful not to sit to close to him and waited for the man to speak, making patterns in the dirt with the tip of his shoe.

“You didn’t come greet me last night, I missed you.” Sherlock didn’t respond. Why should he have come down? This man had no connection to him.

“Your mother told me you two had a conversation a few days ago.” Marcus tried again when Sherlock just shrugged.

“I didn’t realize until your mother spoke to me last night that I had been treating you differently than Mycroft. It wasn’t a conscious decision but I suppose…” He turned towards Sherlock.

“It’s hard to start. Overcoming a thousand years of cultural emotional stoicism isn’t easy but I need to be honest with you. So I guess I’ll just jump right in.” Marcus cleared his throat.

“I married your mother when we were quite young. I knew I was going to be the next Baron and that I had to marry the woman my parents had selected for me. Tessa was second daughter of a viscount, younger then I, barely an adult when our parents came to an understanding. She was pretty, like a china doll, all pale skin, blonde hair and blue eyes.” He smiled wistfully.

“Neither of us wanted to marry. I wanted to travel after university, to live a little, she wasn’t ready to have children. I couldn’t say no to my parents and she didn’t have the will to say no to hers. I know it sound a bit medieval, arranged marriages, but we were raised to listen to our parents. We only met a couple of times before the wedding and didn’t really know each other. I imagine I was a shock to her. She was an only child and hadn’t spent a lot of time with the male half of the species. The times we had met, we just sort of sat in awkward silence. But we married and Mycroft was born within a year of our wedding. She had done her duty and given me an heir. Our parents were so excited and she was so happy. For a time we were able to be happy or maybe we both pretended heard enough that it eventually became true, at least it was for her. We had formed a friendship of sorts and were affectionate with each other. I couldn’t tell her that I was miserable.” He took a deep breath and rubbed his left hand over his face.

“I began to travel a lot for work, mostly to Germany but also to Italy and France. It was while I was in France that I met someone. She made me feel happy in a way that didn’t feel at home. We…” He seemed to remember he was talking to a seven year old and that, even with how intelligent Sherlock was and as adult as he acted there were still some things that a seven year old didn’t need to know.

“I began to spend more and more time in France, leaving your mother alone with Mycroft. The only extended stretches of time we spent together as a family was when we went on summer holiday. I was gone so often I didn’t see how angry and depressed your mother was getting. I didn’t know that she knew about France.” He gave the word extra emphasis.

“She never behaved any differently around me, never let on that she knew. We kept trying to have another child but it hadn’t happened. It wasn’t until the summer Mycroft turned 14 that everything came to a head. I had avoided France as a holiday destination but that year your mother insisted. She wanted to go to Paris and Nice. Everything was fine until a couple of weeks before we were to return. I got a call from the woman I had been seeing in Paris. She was ill, very ill and wanted me with her. I made up some excuse about wanting to have some time with Mycroft, just the two of us. I sent her home.” Marcus paused for such a long time that Sherlock was starting to think that he wouldn’t start again.

“I don’t know what happened. I won’t ask and she hasn’t told me but I know something happened. When I got back your mother was as depressed as I have ever seen her. She looked terrible. I thought something awful must have happened but she didn’t say anything. I thought she had fallen in love with someone else and had a broken heart. Everything went back to normal. A couple of months later she told me she was pregnant. I was so thrilled for a second. But I remembered how she looked when I had returned from France. I asked her if you were mine. She said she didn’t know. I was so angry with her for a moment. How dare she see someone else? But I realized I was being a hypocrite and let it go, mostly.” He turned to face the garden.

“I realized at some point that the timing of her terms was off than if you had been mine. You would have been a month early but none of the doctors said anything about you being premature. You weren’t mine. I didn’t know what to do. My father was getting old and sickly and I didn’t want to have a scandal send him to an early grave. It’s not fair of me but I hated your mother for having you. I had wanted another child so badly and ended up with a baby that wasn’t mine.” Sherlock flinched and edged away from the man who was not his father, who noticed and reached out a hand to grip Sherlock’s shoulder.

“But I held you for the first time and you started up at me and it didn’t matter that you weren’t mine. You were perfect and I loved you. You were such a happy, inquisitive baby full of laughter. I never realized I treated you differently. I guess I couldn’t separate out my anger at your mother from my love for you. But Sherlock” Marcus stared into Sherlock’s eyes and gripped his other shoulder tight.

“I do love you. You are my son, in everything but blood.”

Sherlock stared at his father, relieved and angry at the same time. He wasn’t sure. This man had claimed to love him but hadn’t treated him like it.

“So what now?” He wanted to know. He wanted a father and he wanted to be loved.

“Well,” Marcus started “I’ll make a deal with you. You give me another chance to be a good father to you and I’ll do my best to be the best father I can. I know I’ve hurt you but maybe we can make it better.”

Sherlock started to nod but froze. “What should I call you?”

The question obviously pained Marcus. “I have a lot to make up to you if you need to ask that. If it is okay with you, father works for me.”

Sherlock thought about it. If Marcus could make an effort so could he. He stuck out a hand in order to shake on it and was startled when Marcus tugged on his hand to pull him into a hug. His face squished against the rough fabric of his father’s vest, he breathed in, comforted by the familiar smell of his father, coffee, ink and a woodsy tint, all combined to fit into the mental compartment labeled Father.

Father and son sat like that for a while before Sherlock pulled away, eyes full. He wouldn’t cry though, crying was for babies and he didn’t want to seem like a baby in front of his father. Though he was surprised to find, when he looked up, that his father’s eyes were shiny and full.

“So Sherlock, do you want to show me what it is that you were looking at when I found you?” Sherlock nodded and stood up, Marcus standing a beat behind him.

“There is an ant colony on the edge of the lawn and I’ve been studying them.” He started to explain as they walked down the path together.

He jumped slightly when a large hand reached out and grasped his. Sherlock didn’t say anything just smiled, squeezed back and pulled his father over to the colony.


End file.
